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Riding hard at night was a risky business when visibility was good and now, with moon and stars lost behind a curtain of rain and cloud, not to mention the poor terrain, it was downright foolhardy. Inigo prayed his luck was in. Soldier was the best of horses, he had no desire to lose him.
This race to freedom was, Inigo realised, even more dangerous than when he had dashed into battle to save Rodrigo’s foolhardy cousin, Enrique.
As for the slight, feminine form Inigo was wrestling to keep safely in front of him—he couldn’t in all honour blame her for his predicament. He hadn’t been forced to get involved. The trouble was that as soon as Inigo had got wind of Enrique’s plans, Inigo’s fate had been sealed. He couldn’t stand by while Enrique avenged himself on the Princesses. They weren’t responsible for Sultan Tariq’s misdeeds.
Thunder shook the heavens and the occasional pause was filled with insistent howling. Inigo focused his mind, he would think about the Nasrid Princess later. He had saved her from Enrique, which was the main thing. The rest—what on earth was he to do with her?—must wait. Other problems were more pressing.
Glancing back to ensure that Guillen was keeping pace, Inigo jabbed Soldier’s flanks.
Guillen’s background was humble, he mustn’t fall into the Sultan’s hands. The sole reason that Inigo had survived the Sultan’s hospitality was because he was a nobleman and could afford the ransom demanded for his release. Should Guillen be captured, Inigo would be more than willing to pay to get his squire home in one piece, but he doubted that the Sultan’s officers would pause long enough to find that out. Guillen must not be caught.
They gained higher ground on the other side of the fast-filling river, and Inigo searched the heavens for a guiding star. Unfortunately, the rain was unremitting and there wasn’t as much as a glimmer, he would have to rely on instinct. Summer storms were generally brief, the light must improve soon. He blinked water from his eyes and prayed for the skies to clear. If necessary, he would alter course when the stars reappeared.
They forged on. A flurry of wind caught the Princess’s veil and Inigo found himself batting yards of wet, jewel-encrusted fabric out of his face. Swearing under his breath, he slowed, one-handedly gathering the exotic fabric into a bundle. The Princess half turned.
‘My lord?’ A slender hand pulled at the veil. ‘You’re strangling me.’
‘My apologies, Princess, the wretched thing is blinding me.’ Ruthlessly, Inigo tugged. ‘It must come off.’
There was a brief pause before her head dipped in agreement and that small hand came up, to fumble with ties or pins, he knew not what, but the veil came free.
Ruthlessly, he gathered the soggy mass into a ball and prepared to toss it aside.
She caught his hand. ‘No!’
Inigo lifted an eyebrow. ‘It’s a nuisance.’
Somehow, she wrested it from him. ‘It’s a valuable nuisance, my lord. I shall have need of it later.’
Nodding brusquely, Inigo relieved her of the veil and bundled it into a saddlebag. ‘I dare say you’ll find the ride easier without it.’
Wrapping his arms about her again, Inigo gathered the reins. Inevitably, the movement brought them closer and she didn’t face forward immediately. He felt her gaze on him and wondered if she could make out as little as he. He’d seen the faces of all three Princesses, while moving from the prison in Salobreña to hard labour in Granada. It had only been a glimpse, enough to confirm that the stories about them were true. The Princesses were triplets, identical triplets. They were also very lovely. Inigo wouldn’t mind seeing Princess Alba’s face properly, if only to confirm that she couldn’t be quite as beautiful as his memory painted her.
The Princesses had intervened to save Inigo and his comrades from a beating—or worse—when they had inadvertently run foul of the Sultan’s orders on the march from Salobreña to Granada. For that he would be eternally grateful. He was also grateful for the food they had sent down in baskets during their time clearing the ravine near the Princesses’ tower.
None of which meant that Inigo welcomed having been forced to rescue her. He was betrothed, the last thing he needed was to return to Seville with a Nasrid princess. That would make explanations to Margarita interesting, to say the least. He and the Princess would be parting ways at Córdoba.
‘My lord...’ her whisper reached him through the dark and wet ‘...my name is Alba.’
‘Princess Alba, I am honoured.’ Inigo bowed his head. ‘Hold tight.’
‘Where are we going, my lord?’
‘North. The border’s closest there. With luck we’ll reach Córdoba before very long.’ He wondered how stoic she was. ‘It’s a fair ride, you understand.’
‘It will take more than a day?’
‘It could take several days, we are largely in God’s hands.’
‘Several days?’ With a sigh, she faced forward. ‘I shall not let you down.’
Inigo dug his heels into Soldier’s flanks.
They rode in what he trusted was a northerly direction with the Princess’s words—I shall not let you down—echoing in his mind. Even though he hadn’t wanted this, he felt a reluctant admiration for her.
All Inigo had been able to think about since his release was that his days in Sultan Tariq’s prison were over. Even though he knew it was common for lords to be held for ransom after capture in battle, there’d been moments when he’d feared he would never see Seville again. His injured leg still throbbed occasionally. The wound had made him delirious for days. If it hadn’t been for Rodrigo, Inigo would doubtless have breathed his last. Thanks to Rodrigo securing the services of a doctor, Inigo’s leg had slowly healed. And Sultan Tariq had eventually settled on a ransom.
Fortunately, Inigo’s coffers were deep. He wouldn’t be crippled, physically or financially, by his ill-fated excursion into Al-Andalus.
The storm rolled on. Inigo swiped water from his face and frowned into the night. Rodrigo had far more cause for regret than he did. Rodrigo’s graceless cousin, Enrique, had a lot to answer for. Inigo had merely come away with some grim memories, an ache in his leg and the knowledge that his coffers were slightly lighter. Rodrigo, on the other hand, had lost a beloved younger brother. Inigo didn’t envy Rodrigo his homecoming. His mother, Lady Isabel, would be beside herself with grief.
They continued steadily uphill, crossing land that was lightly wooded. The baying of the Sultan’s hounds faded and other, less hostile, sounds took over—the startled bleat of a sheep, the thud of their horses’ hoofs, the cry of an owl.
The Princess—Alba—held fast. Thankfully, the trembling had stopped. She appeared to be sitting easily before him. Occasionally, a light scent flirted with Inigo’s senses. It was flowery and exotic. Jasmine? Inigo wasn’t sure, though it was pleasant. As was holding her. How long had it been since he had held a woman in his arms? Too long, clearly.
The face of Inigo’s betrothed formed in his mind. Lady Margarita Marchena de Carmona. They had been betrothed for an age. Inigo was uneasily aware that he’d not seen her in years. That must change, and quickly. His brush with death had brought home to him the importance of marriage. Of getting heirs. He had dallied long enough.
He fixed his gaze on where he thought—prayed—north was and grimaced. In Córdoba, he would have to see the Princess safely stowed before he arranged his marriage. He had no clue how to deal with her. She was a Nasrid princess, for pity’s sake. He would consult with Rodrigo, between them they would think of something. Then, with the Princess safe, Inigo could seek out his betrothed.
He’d marry before the year was out. He needed sons, someone to steward the family lands. After Margarita had given him a son or two, he could rest easy in the knowledge that her greedy brother, Baron Fernando, would never lay claim to his lands.
Baron Fernando Marchena de Carmona had a reputation for deviousness and double-dealing. Put bluntly, Inigo didn’t trust him. He’d never liked him. While Inigo understood his father’s wish to forge an alliance with their close neighbours, the idea of Baron Fernando becoming his brother-in-law filled him with misgivings.
If Inigo’s marriage to Margarita proved childless and Inigo were to die without an heir, Baron Fernando wouldn’t hesitate to stake a claim to Inigo’s lands. Neighbour or no, Baron Fernando wasn’t fit to rule. Inigo wanted better for his land and his people.
Inigo tightened his hold on the Nasrid Princess, brought his face closer to her damp hair and inhaled gently. Jasmine. Yes, he’d take his oath Princess Alba’s hair was fragranced with jasmine.
The rain slackened, the storm was blowing itself out. When the stars reappeared, Inigo was thankful to see they were, as he had hoped, headed in a northerly direction.
The Princess remained quiet, apparently resigned to the length of the ride and her slightly ignominious mode of transport. She had to be finding this an ordeal, when Inigo had seen her on the road to Granada, she’d been riding a delicate grey mare bedecked with silver bells. The attendant entourage had been huge. Knights. Servants carrying sunshades. Sultan Tariq himself...
Inigo glanced over his shoulder, God help him, Guillen was trailing, they might have to slow down. Had Raven’s shoe worked loose? It might not be the shoe though; Raven wasn’t as fast or robust as Soldier.
He reined in to allow Guillen to catch up and the Princess looked over her shoulder at him. Her eyes glittered, in the dusky light of the stars and moon, they were enormous.
‘I haven’t heard the hounds for a while, my lord. Do you think we have outrun them?’
Her voice had a soft, husky quality that sent a frisson of awareness down Inigo’s spine.
‘I believe so, my lady.’
Inigo studied her, or tried to. The light wasn’t strong enough for him to make out much more than her face and her eyes, which were framed by dark eyelashes. The glimpse he’d had of her on that pretty mare had revealed her to be extraordinarily lovely. However, it had been but the briefest of glimpses and Inigo was conscious that he’d been starved of feminine company for so long that he might have exaggerated her appeal.
While he waited for Guillen, Inigo smiled down at her. ‘You must be missing your grey mare.’
Those long eyelashes swept down, and she stiffened, an almost imperceptible movement but he could hardly miss it, given how close they were.
‘Alas, the grey mares are no longer in the palace stables,’ she murmured. ‘My father sold them.’
‘Oh?’
The Princess didn’t choose to enlarge and as Guillen drew abreast, Inigo didn’t press her.
‘Are we going to stop, my lord?’ Guillen asked in his hopeful voice.
‘Is Raven’s shoe giving you trouble?’
‘No, my lord. Raven seems fine.’ Guillen gave a loud yawn.
‘I’m sorry, lad, I know you’re exhausted,’ Inigo said. Guillen hadn’t been prepared for this race through Al-Andalus any more than Inigo had. ‘We’ll rest soon. Sir Enrique’s folly caught us all unawares.’
‘Sir Enrique’s folly?’ The Princess laid a delicate hand on Inigo’s forearm and a dark eyebrow lifted. ‘Are you saying that you didn’t plan to come to the sally port, Lord Inigo?’
Inigo saw no reason to lie. ‘My lady, I had no such plans until the last moment. My sole aim was to leave Al-Andalus and get back to Castile as quickly and safely as possible.’ Conscious of the Princess’s innocence, Inigo picked his words with care. If Princess Alba had spent her days cloistered with her sisters, she would have no experience of life outside the palace. She must be afraid, and he didn’t want to add to her fears. ‘However, when Sir Enrique, Lord Rodrigo’s cousin, you understand, revealed he was planning to...er...to help you and your sisters escape, I decided that Lord Rodrigo and I should join him. We wanted to ensure all went smoothly.’
At first the Princess didn’t respond. In the east, the horizon was shading to dawn. As Inigo looked at it, he could feel those small fingers, clenching and unclenching on his sleeve.
‘My lord, I am sorry to have inconvenienced you,’ she said coolly. ‘Please be assured, you will be rewarded for your assistance.’
Inigo almost choked. She thought he wanted a reward? What kind of man did she think he was? ‘I want no reward.’ The only reward he craved was to return to Seville in one piece and get on with his life. ‘It is my pleasure to take you to Córdoba where you may join the other Princess.’
Her dark eyebrows snapped together. Her fingers dug into his arm. ‘My lord, you must remember there are three of us. Leonor went with your friend, Lord Rodrigo. Did you see Constanza?’
Inigo hesitated. ‘I am not sure I saw your other sister,’ he said carefully. Rodrigo had sworn to deal with Enrique. Inigo hoped nothing had gone amiss. He caught the gleam of white teeth; the Princess was biting her lip.
‘Constanza never left the palace? I could have sworn she was following.’ Her voice was small. ‘It wouldn’t surprise me if she’d lost heart though, Constanza is, well, wary of change.’
‘It saddens you to think of her living alone in the palace.’
She shot him a startled look and nodded. ‘We have always been together.’
Inigo nudged Soldier into a walk. With the dogs no longer hot on their heels, speed was less important. It was just as well, the horses needed a change of pace. Hearing a stifled yawn, he said, ‘We shall rest soon, my lady.’
‘As you wish.’
Inigo was himself fatigued. His leg gave a twinge, a slight discomfort that was, he realised with a rueful smile, keeping him alert. And thank heaven for it, he must keep his wits about him until he had found somewhere safe for them to recover their strength. A secluded campsite would be better than nothing. It would have to be soon; the light was strengthening.
They set off again and Inigo was eyeing the terrain, peering into a small olive grove at the side of the road, when Princess Alba pointed.
‘My lord, look.’
A dilapidated shack took shape, half hidden by the trees. A shepherd’s hut, if he wasn’t mistaken.
‘Could we stop there?’
‘I wouldn’t risk it. It’s too near the road.’ He prepared to ride on when a faint, mewling sound caught his attention.
The Princess gripped his arm. ‘Did you hear that?’
‘Sounds like a cat,’ he said.
The Princess gripped his arm. ‘That is no cat.’ Her voice held a note of urgency. ‘It’s a baby. My lord, a baby is in distress, we must stop.’
Inigo looked at the Princess and back at the hut. It really was too close to the highway. ‘My lady, we can’t stop here.’
‘Yes, we can.’
Before Inigo realised what she was about, the Princess leaned back full against him, slipped lithely to the ground and hurried into the hut.
Exchanging a disbelieving glance with Guillen, Inigo handed him his reins. ‘Wait here, lad.’ He dismounted, jarring his injured leg as his boots hit the ground.
What the devil did she think she was doing, walking boldly into a shepherd’s hut dressed like a concubine from a harem? If anyone saw her, the entire area would be awash with rumour, and the world would quickly work out that one of Sultan Tariq’s runaway Princesses had come this way.
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